


A Flower in His Lapel

by 10MonthDay (AwwKeyboardNo)



Category: Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: (right?? i'm right right??), Abby is such a good bean I love her, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bram is a soft boy and I stan him, Coming Out, Divergent after Chapter 17, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Gay Disaster Simon Spier, I can't believe Bram invented romance, I love Leah bc she's basically me tbh, Love Simon is the 20gayteen remake of You've Got Mail and it makes me so happy, M/M, Multi, Not Beta Read, POV First Person, POV Simon Spier, References to Homophobic Language & Behaviors, References to You've Got Mail (1998), Simon has a potty mouth in his head, Some Elements of the Movie, emailing, mostly his parents personalities, of Simonvs, there's like 3 percent angst, this is mostly fluff and flirting really, written in the style of the book so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 17:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15124787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwwKeyboardNo/pseuds/10MonthDay
Summary: I'm just going to do it. Even though my throat is tight with nerves and a sick coil is building in my gut, I’m going to come out and say it.Hah, come out.--Simon comes out to his friends before Martin outs him, and that makes all the difference in the world.





	A Flower in His Lapel

**Author's Note:**

> Anything that looks familiar belongs to Becky Albertalli or 20th Century Fox. 
> 
> I started writing this pretty much the minute I finished reading SimonVs...which was a day after I watched Love, Simon. This has been sitting in my Google Docs for about two weeks, mostly finished. Might be sliiightly AU to LOTO, because I wrote this before I was able to my hands on a copy--but Leah is still pretty similar to how she is in that book.
> 
> I really just wanted to write fluff, so that's pretty much all this is, I think. Almost 15k of fluff.
> 
> (But I usually write angst, so this might be a lot less fluffy than I think it is I don't know.)
> 
> Any deprecating thoughts Simon has about himself are because he's got anxiety (is that canon or am I just projecting my anxiety???) they aren't what I think about Simon.

I’m just going to do it. Even though my throat is tight with nerves and a sick coil is building in my gut, I’m going to come out and say it.

Hah, come out.

Because even though I know they’ll have set ideas, and maybe will be a little more surprised than I want them to be (do I want them to be surprised?), I suddenly, desperately want to.

Maybe it’s because I feel sort of guilty for telling Abby first. Maybe it’s that Blue has made me a lot braver. Maybe I just want to talk about how I feel with _someone_ \-- someone who is _not_ Martin _fucking_ Addison.

Speaking of the actual, literal devil, I get a text from Monkey’s Asshole: _hey maybe another Waffle House thing soon?_

And _maybe_ it’s the fact that I want to stop being motherfucking _blackmailed_ . If I can tell my friends, maybe I can tell my family (like Blue is and will), and if I can tell my family, maybe Martin can take his stupid blackmail and shove it up his--but I’m getting ahead of myself. “So, hey,” I ask, interrupting what is likely a _fascinating_ conversation about Doctor Who. Nick and Leah both look at me.

And I’m silent. Because I don’t know how I want to tell them.

When I told Abby, I just said it. I told her I was gay, and that was that. But that goes back to her not having had time to get a set idea about me.

But I think with Nick and Leah--with the people I’ve known since I was little….I can’t stand the thought of being blunt like that.

“Yeah, Si?” Leah probes. There is a single note of concern in her voice--which likely means whatever expression I’ve got on my face is really worrying her.

My phone starts vibrating, but I don’t look at it, in case it’s Martin again.

“I have something I want to tell you,” I say, and I _know_ I’m stalling. I just want to get my jumbled thoughts into a proper sentence before I potentially ruin the (near) best things in my life. “And I want you to not freak out about it.”

“What is it?” Nick asks. He looks more than a little confused. Which, okay, we don’t usually talk about heavy stuff.

(Nothing could be more heavy than my big-ass gay crush on my secret penpal.)

“There’s someone….there’s someone I have a cr--” I choke on the words. My face is prickling hot. “There’s a person I have feelings for.”

And, wow, okay. We _really_ never talk about crushes. It’s just not our thing. That’s the status quo. But perhaps the absolute astonishment on their faces is a bit much.

“What?” Nick croaks. Leah kicks him in the shin. He shoots her a Look then turns back to stare at me. I avert my eyes. “Well, uh, congrats Si?”

_Why are you telling us this_? He doesn’t say.

Leah cocks her head. She seems to sense how much I want to talk. “Tell us about her,” she demands.

And, yeah, I feel a little sick to my stomach at that last word. How could she know otherwise though? If the last three girlfriends I’ve had are any indication--it _should_ be a girl in their eyes.

I force out a laugh. “See, funny thing about that. It’s, “ I take a breathe and shut my eyes. “It’s a guy.”

Silence. I don’t open my eyes but I can still feel them staring at me. The air feels heavy and wrong.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckity fucking _fuck_. I have fucked up.

I bite my cheek until I taste copper.

After what seems like a million and ten years, Leah says, “Is it someone we know?” at the same time that Nick says,

“You’re gay?”

I open my eyes. I was right about them staring at me. Every couple of seconds that I don’t speak though, Leah’s eyes flicker to Nick. I get immediately what she’s not asking.

I suck in some more air. “Yeah, I am gay--and…maybe, I dunno if you know him.” _I don’t know him._

Leah looks relieved. “I’m glad you could trust us with this.”

“Thanks for telling us, dude,” Nick says, still looking a little shellshocked. Then he has a thought. “Hey, is this why Martin has been hanging around so much lately? Because you _gotta_ have higher standards than that.”

I might throw up in my mouth a little. “ _No_ . _Jesus_ no.” Then I laugh a little--partly in actual incredulity at the thought, and partly because I am suddenly so freaking _relieved_. Only, the sound comes out as a half sob.

Leah gets up and pulls me into a hug, which is rarer than her smiling at Abby. I cling to her. And then there’s Nick’s warm hand on my shoulder and I cry harder.

Fuck I’m a mess.

“Love you guys,” I say into Leah’s shirt.

I’m late getting home.

\--

_FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com_  
_TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com_  
_DATE: Dec 18 at 7:48 PM_  
_SUBJECT: i’m a gay mess™ and I got snot all over my friend’s shirt_

_Blue,_

_I told my other friends. About me being gay. And they were cool with it. And I cried all over them. And they let me do it, because they’re awesome like that._

_Sorry I’m a little…Well, it’s been a weird, but not bad, day._

_So, I’m sitting with them, feeling guilty that I told our other friend and not them (since I’ve known them approximately a million years longer than her). And I want to tell them. But I didn’t want to, like, make things awkward, so I kind of edged into it. I told them….well, okay don’t be mad because it was kind of an accident, but._

_I kind of?? Told them I had a crush on someone??? Like I didn’t come out (haha) and say, ‘there’s this boy I’ve been emailing.’ Literally, it’s just the fact that there is a guy that is exists on this planet, and isn’t a celebrity, that I think is crazy-amazing._

_Because you are, by the way, crazy-amazing._

_But, I’m sorry if I overstepped our boundaries here. I don’t want you to be mad at me. But I understand if you are. Just, tell me if you are. Don’t stop talking to me._

_Love,_

_Jacques_

 

_FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com_  
_TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com_  
_DATE: Dec 19 at 12:01 AM_  
_SUBJECT: Re: i’m a gay mess™ and I got snot all over my friend’s shirt_

_Jacques,_

_I promise you, I’m not mad. You didn’t step on any line. I’m really, extremely proud of you. It’s a big step that you’ve made, telling someone that knows you so well. From what you’ve told me, your friends sound great. Looks like you crossed that border and took off running. I’m really happy for you._

_Since you continue to be inspiring, maybe I’ll tell my best friend soon too._

_If I’m crazy-awesome, then you’re insanely-perfect. I love every new thing I learn about you. I think about you all the time._

_Love,_

_Blue_

\--

I’m a little giddy, going into rehearsals on Saturday. All my best friends know and support me. Blue isn’t mad at me. And we messaged for most of the day yesterday--starting at midnight, with Blue’s email.

(There was a lot of flirting involved. So much.)

I do not leave rehearsals feeling giddy. I’m confused and a little worried. Okay, a lot worried.

I still don’t totally get why Martin was so pissed off at me. Yeah, getting rejected sucks, but it’s not like I can mind-control Abby into liking the guy.

I just hope that Martin doesn’t do anything drastic--like post-the-emails drastic.

I think I would just--

Blue might misunderstand, if that happens. He might never talk to me again. And I can’t stand that thought.

Maybe I should tell Blue about Martin.

\---

_Hey, Blue, here’s a hilarious anecdote to cheer you up: I’ve been blackmailed for the past almost-four months by a Monkey’s Asshole, about you and our relationship and our emails. And I’m worried he might out us to the whole fucking universe._

_Love, Simon (because might as well)_

I don’t sent that. I delete it, type something up about poop and getting knocked up. Then, as a little slip in I mention that the day has been weird. That’s all. I can’t do this to Blue right now, not with the news about his future sibling.

Blue, being astute as fuck, still catches on that something is bothering me.

I avoid the subject and thankfully Blue lets me, distracting me by being funny and cute, like always.

And. I. Want. To. Meet. Him.

I think it’s been long enough.

But, as I type out the question--and retype it, and type it again--I think about Martin. If the boy, pissed as he is, saw me with a boy I don’t hang out with often, there’s no way he wouldn’t take advantage of that.

I cannot, _will not_ do that to Blue.

Instead, I flirt and tease and Blue teases and flirts--knowing we’re both doing our best to distract the each other. And I wish I could be brave.

\--

Martin is predictable. And a piece of shit asshole. And I hate him with every single molecule of my being.

At first, I don’t know that anything is wrong. Not until all three of my friends show up at my house, at ten thirty in the morning, on Christmas Eve, concerned panic all over their faces.

They show me the tumblr post on creeksecrets and the earth shifts beneath my feet. I sit and they sit with me. They incircle me in the bed, silent but supportive.

After a long, long time, the first thing that I find myself saying is, “Anal buttsex is redundant.” My voice is hollow and tired.

Blue is never going to speak to me again.

Nora joins us sooner rather than later, and I can’t find it in me to be surprised. I know she has read the tumblr, by the worried look on her face. She sits at the foot of the bed.

I look away from her. “It’s true. I mean, obviously I didn’t write the post, but I _am_ gay.”

Nora reaches over and takes my hand.

“Who did write it?” Nick asks. And he’s quietly sad, but angry too. Angry on my behalf.

I curl further into Leah, shutting my eyes. “Nora, lock the door.”

There’s a rule against that, but at this point, I don’t really fucking care. I refuse to get my parents involved in this right now. Nora gets up, locks the door, and sits, closer this time, against my legs. I let her.

“Martin,” I say.

Abby gasps, clearly a little shocked and hurt that her sort-of-friend Martin (funny Martin, goofball Martin, Simon’s _friend_ Martin) would do something like that.

And I _cannot bear it anymore._

The story spills out: how I saw Blue’s post on the tumblr oh so long ago, and how relieved and overjoyed I was to have found someone just like me (Leah’s hold tightens on me); I talk about getting careless and leaving gmail open, and Martin finding it; I talk about the blackmail and about trying desperately to avoid Martin and failing; I tell them about inviting Martin to Halloween and Waffle House and how suddenly, every- _fucking-_ where we went, it seemed like Martin was there; I tell them how mad Martin got and how nervous I was about what he might do with my secret--how scared I am that Blue will disappear forever and I will never, _ever_ get to tell him that I think I’m falling in love with him.

None of them move away during my story, or when I’m done.

After a long, fraught silence, Abby sighs. “Okay. Okay. I’m going to be mad about the Martin thing _later_ , and we’re going to have a long discussion about my getting to choose who I date.” I’m tense, but, as Abby leans over to peck me on the forehead, I turn into a relieved puddle. “But not right now. Because what Martin was trying to do about me was shitty, but what he’s done to you makes me want to go rip his balls off and feed them to him.”

“A-fucking-men,” Leah mutters.

Nick has a hand on my shoulder again.

And I cry.

\--

My friends leave after extracting promises from me to check in every few hours. I lay on my bed with Bieber and Nora. After a while, Alice knocks and comes in. She sits on my bed next to me, runs a hand over my messy hair.

“Hey, bub,” she says softly. “I don’t know what’s wrong, and you don’t have to tell me, but I hope you know that I’m here for you too--even when I’m not here.”

I scoot over in invitation for some sibling cuddles and that is all that happens for a while.

“I promise, I’ll tell you tomorrow,” I tell her, eventually. When we are all about to head down to dinner.

She presses a kiss to my forehead.

\---

I suppose, all things considered, coming out to the rest of my family goes as well as can be expected.

The joke about girlfriends turning me gay is upsetting, even if I don’t really think dad meant it.

The one good thing that comes of this whole shitty situation, is that Alice finally tells me that she has a boyfriend.

\---

School would be a nightmare if I was by myself. As it is, it still royally sucks. I’m exhausted and anxious and just so fucking done with nearly the entire world. And I somehow hate Martin even more for how upset he is about everything--everything that is _all Martin’s fault_. He doesn’t get to feel guilty for trying to ruin my life.

And to top it all off, the next day, I fuck up with Blue.

I was so certain that Blue was Cal, and now I feel like the village idiot. Blue is entirely too understanding _and_ he’s figured out who I am. And not even through the stupid tumblr.

I still tell him about what happened, because I owe it to Blue for almost outing him (even if I _still_ don’t know his real name).

 

_FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com_  
_TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com_  
_DATE: Jan 7 at 11:00 PM_  
_SUBJECT: Re: Really?_

_Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner. I’m Simon. At least one out of the two of us is smart._

_As for the tumblr thing…_

_Sorry…I’ve been writing and rewriting this, trying to figure out how to explain this whole, stupid, messed up situation--and about the mess I almost got you in. And, if you don’t hate me already for guessing wrong about your identity, then you’ll probably hate me after this. Can’t say I’ll blame you._

_Okay._

_Okay. A couple months ago, I was really stupidly careless. I left my email open on a school computer. And someone saw our emails. .I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you right away but I thought if you knew you would leave and it was still early at that point but I was already falling for you and I couldn’t bear to lose you. But since it was early, there wasn’t any, well, incriminating stuff on there yet. Not really. And I changed my password after that, so those were the only emails he ever saw, I swear._

_But, anyway, you don’t want to hear excuses. The person who found them decided they were good blackmail material. He screenshotted them and threatened to leak them, unless I would help him get a date with Abby (Abby Suso, incase you don’t know, but since you know who I am, you definitely know her)._

_Abby, being the good judge of character she is, doesn’t like him like that. She rejected him when he asked her out and that made him mad at me._

_So he posted on the tumblr that I was looking for “anal buttsex” and “bluejobs” and to not leave me “blue balled”. He didn’t post the screenshots, but those references to you were just about the worst part._

_No, actually, the worst part is how upset he is about how everyone is treating me. Like what did he expect??? A few people to be like, “haha Simon has a crush on a boyyy” and then move on???_

_Sorry. I’m really sorry Blue. For everything bad that’s happened because of me. I’m sorry that I thought you were someone else. And I’m sorry that…well, I’m  me, I guess. It can’t have been that great of a surprise that I’m weird, not very attractive, theater geek Simon. _

_Love,_

_Simon_

_P.S. That was the biggest reason I liked him, by the way: I thought he was you, so it was safe for me to look at him and stuff. Looking at literally any boy makes me think I’m cheating on you in a way._

_P.P.S. If you don’t want to hear from me anymore, that’s up to you, and I guess it’s fair._

 

_FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com_  
_TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com_  
_DATE: Jan 8 at 12:00 PM_  
_SUBJECT: I still don’t hate you, and anal buttsex is a tautology._

_Simon,_

_First of all, I was not disappointed that Jacques was Simon and Simon was Jacques. Because I have a crush on both of them. And it made me guilty in the same way you apparently were when I thought they were two different people. It was…Well, it was nice to be able to put your face and your voice together with your emails. And you are very, very attractive. You’re so attractive it’s unfair._

_Also, please don’t imply that you’re stupid. You’re not. You’re witty and loyal and you have the best sense of humor. And I’ve seen your grades. You wouldn’t be in AP if you weren’t smart. Do you sometimes miss details? Yes, but you wouldn’t be you otherwise._

_As for the whole situation. Simon, I am so sorry that you felt like you couldn’t come to me with this. It makes me a bit of a grade-a jackass for not noticing how uncomfortable you were around Martin._

_It is Martin, yes?_

_Either way, the person that did that to you (to us, I suppose) is the one I’m angry at. You are **not ** to blame for what he did. It doesn’t matter that you left your email open, because he should have done the right thing and logged you out. _

_I’m sorry about how everyone has been treating you. And I’m sorry I can’t even console you in person. I’m sorry I still haven’t told you my name or given you my phone number or anything like that. Because, the truth is…_

_I’m still too afraid to._

_You are far braver than I, Simon Spier._

_All of My Love,_

_Blue_

_P.S. Seriously though, did he not know that saying anal buttsex is putting two synonyms together? It would be like saying you are smart and intelligent in the same sentence._

_P.P.S You are smart and intelligent, by the way. _

 

\---

I am a _little_ bit tired of crying.

The only difference is, I’m crying in happiness right now. Blue doesn’t hate me. Blue doesn’t blame me. _Blue thinks I’m attractive and smart and has a crush on me_ \--Simon me!

I go through the next day in something of a happy daze. I ignore any of the assholes still trying to haze me and smile at everyone I pass.

The one not-so-bright point is the still unknown identity of Blue. It’s more than a little unfair that he knows who I am, but I don’t know Blue. Blue says he’s too afraid, which I completely get. But I do wish he would, at least, give a few more hints.

When Cal mentions that he’s bisexual, the only real feeling that I get is a little triumphant thrill at being right. Then I’m a little speechless, because Cal all but asks me out. And it’s a new feeling, seeing a boy maybe-like me in front of my eyes.

But the thing is, he’s not Blue. If he _had_ been Blue, or if Blue had never started talking to me, I think I would be overjoyed. But he’s not Blue, and Blue has a crush on me and thinks I’m attractive. I turn Cal down, more than a little apologetic.

“I have a bit of a maybe-boyfriend,” I tell him. Cal takes it with good grace, because he’s Cal.

“That’s cool,” Cal says. “I’m happy for you both. He’s a lucky guy, Simon.”

Abby sprints up from behind me, once Cal has walked away. “A maybe boyfriend?” she inquires.

I blush so heavily I think I might pass out. “Maybe. Blue. He knows who I am and he has a crush on me and he thinks I’m _attractive_!”

She stares at me. “That’s because you are, Simon.”

And I shrug.

\---

I haven’t responded to Blue’s email yet, because I get flustered everytime I look at it. It’s not even remotely about sex (not this time). It’s just filled with so many compliments that I almost can’t take it.

I just, love Blue so much.

There is, however, another email waiting for me when I get home. My heart stutters in my chest.

 

_FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com_  
_TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com_  
_DATE: Jan 10 at 2:12 PM_  
_SUBJECT: A little birdy told me…_

_...That you turned down Cal Price, because you had a maybe boyfriend._

_Should I be jealous?_

_Love,_

_Blue_

_P.S. You should know that I might have punched the air a little when I found out. In a good way._

_P.P.S In case it wasn’t obvious, I would very much like to be your maybe-boyfriend. Though, only if you’re okay with still not being an in-person couple. Otherwise, it will have to wait just a little longer._

 

_FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com_  
_TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com_  
_DATE: Jan 10 at 3:45 PM  
_ _SUBJECT: asidjshfo YES_

_I mean, you shouldn’t be jealous about my maybe-boyfriend because I only have a thing for mysterious guys nicknamed Blue who like reeses and oreos and superheroes and who have been flirting with me for the past six months and who make me feel like I have molten lava under my skin._

_In case you were unsure, I’m talking about you._

_At this point, while I do really, really want to know who you are, I’m okay with this because it means I get to keep you until you get sick of me. And I am very, very, very okay with that._

_I mean yes, at some point (sooner than later?), I would like to be able to hug you and kiss you and enact some of those daydreams (and such) that we both have._

_Until then, I guess I’ll have to only think of what we’ll be able to do once we’re physically together._

_But, there’s no reason I can’t tell you about those thoughts._

_Love, your Maybe-Boyfriend,_

_Simon_

_P.S. too much?_

_P.P.S Since you know my identity but I don’t know yours, does that make me the Lois Lane to your Superman? Or is it more MJ and Spiderman? Or whoever it is that Green Lantern hooks up with?_

 

_FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com_  
_TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com_  
_DATE: Jan 10 at 6:00 PM_  
_SUBJECT: Re: asidjshfo YES_

_Simon,_

_“Whoever it is that Green Lantern hooks up with?”_

_I cannot believe you made me read that with my own two eyes. I cannot even. Just. Simon. Baby no._

_Now look what’s happened! You’ve resorted me to sentence fragments. Though, perhaps, those have more to do with the rest of your email._

_I think I’d like to hear more about the molten lava under your skin. That sounds hot. (I know, I know, I’m sorry). Genuinely though, that is something that I would like you to expand on. You make me feel like there are live, electric currents coursing through my limbs. Every time I’m even near you it’s like it’s hard to breathe and my tongue swells up and I’m just transfixed by everything you do. Sometimes I just want to scream--I want so desperately to show the world that I belong with Simon Spier. But I can’t, because I’m shy and scared and I can barely say two sentences to you without getting flustered._

_Sometimes I wish we could do that date in the dark thing you talked about. We wouldn’t even have to do anything if you didn’t want to. I just want to hug you too._

_I could never, ever get sick of you. So, you must be stuck with me._

_Love,_

_Blue_

_P.S. no, not too much :)_

_P.P.S. I’m thinking more along the lines of Deadpool  and Spiderman, because of the identity thing. Seriously though, that Green Lantern thing. Simon, really? _

_P.P.P.S You know what’s really amazing about me knowing who you are? It means I can give you all the presents I want to. I can finally act on all those urges since freshman year to give you secret admirer gifts._

\--

It doesn’t start with the shirt. No, that’s the end game. It starts, it seems, with the bouquet that is sent anonymously to me the lunch period after the first pre-showing of Oliver. Part of me briefly wonders if this is a joke sent by one of the homophobic masses, but the flowers (many shades of blue) are too beautiful. They’re even in a jar of water to keep from drying out. Then, I see the note.

_Roses are red_ _  
_ _I am called Blue_ _  
_ _Hope you like flowers_  
Because these are for you

_Can’t wait to see you be amazing!_

_Love,_

_Blue_

I am blushing heavily and I have to put my face in my hands just to maybe scream a little. I’m already hot in the face from the table’s reaction to the eye-makeup, but _this._ Jesus.

“Dude, you okay?” It’s Cute Bram who asks. I can’t manage more than a nod. My face is still in my hands.

Abby pats me on the back. “I think he’s overwhelmed with how much he likes his boyfriend.”

I nod again. Then I whine, mostly to her and Leah. “I want to kiss him so much. Fuck guys, he’s just so perfect I could cry.”

“Don’t cry,” Abby says, but it’s not a comforting voice. It’s rather a demand. “You’ll mess up your make-up. You want to look ridiculously hot for that boy of yours, right?”

I sit up immediately. I do.

I allow Abby to check me over, to make sure I haven’t smudged anything. Then I eat lunch and get ready to go back to the auditorium. After much pleading (read: whining) from me, Leah promises to keep an eye on my bouquet.

Blue will be in the audience this time. I am an excited, jittery mess. I’m ready to do this show--I’m ready for not just Blue to see it, but for Nick and Leah too.

Only, then Ms. Albright pulls me and Martin aside. She tells us about the board outside the auditorium. My good mood evaporates and my stomach drops into my toes.

Part of me has been wondering since I was outed, when the inevitable graffitied f-word would come in to play.

Apparently _it's_ shining moment is during what is supposed to be _my_ shining moment.

I refuse to cancel the play though. Because as much as the whole situation pisses me off (the board, Martin’s overbearing guilt, and the mood crash that always comes with bad news), it would be so much worse if Blue didn’t get to see me on stage.

It helps, during when Ms. Albright goes out to chastise the students, that Abby has a tight grip on my hand. We’ve already had the conversation she promised we’d have, and it went well. There were a few tears on both our sides, and a bit of loud words, but in the end she forgave me. Abby is still my friend and I am so _damn_ grateful for it.

(Though, a large part of me is convinced that I don’t deserve her forgiveness.)

Eventually, it’s time for the show to start. I take my place on stage, nervous grasshoppers in my stomach (which are about fifty times worse than butterflies). As the curtain opens I take a deep, settling breath.

Somewhere out there, Blue is watching.

\---

Leah and Nick are waiting for me and Abby in the parking lot. The three of them are apparently taking me out. I think they probably feel bad about the f-word thing.

Leah has passed my flowers off to Nora, so that I don’t have to go home to drop them off. She’s frowning a little, when Abby and I stop next to them. Abby has told me that the plan is to go to Midtown. I know that Leah is a little weird about Midtown, that it makes her anxious (anxiety is highly contagious when comes to me and Leah). She blanks her face when she sees me staring.

“What are you staring at, weirdo?” she says. “I’m not the one who’s made up like Brendan Urie.”

Leah and I both find Brendan Urie ridiculously attractive, and she knows that. It’s a good thing to say to distract me. I blush and look down.

\--

In Atlanta, we go to Zestos, where I have never been. I get ice cream with Oreo's and Reese's cups swirled into it, because after the drama of the graffiti and Martin, I think ice cream is well worth it. (I’ve liked reese’s more since Blue said he enjoyed them.)

Leah gives me a disgusted look. “It’s January, Simon. It’s too cold for ice cream. And you haven’t eaten anything real since lunch.” Then she shoves half her fries on me. I’m fine with this--I can dip the fries in the ice cream.

After we eat, we go to Junkman’s Daughter and then to a feminist bookstore that apparently has a large selection of LGBT stuff. It’s a cool place. Abby gets me a book about gay penguins. Leah gets a couple books too, but she doesn’t show them to any of us.

Then we’re all hungry enough for a real dinner, so Abby drives us to a place called Webster’s, which is obviously a gay bar, but is also apparently a restaurant.

It’s overwhelming--the vast number of cute guys, and the thumping music, and even the way the host is smiling at us.

I find myself clinging to Leah, just a little. Surprisingly, she lets me. She even leans into me a bit. I wonder if she too is overwhelmed.

While Abby and Nick go to find the table, I drag Leah off towards the bathrooms. While she goes willingly, she cranes her neck a couple of times to peer after the other two. She only stops once they disappear into the crowd.

She’s waiting for me when I get out of the bathroom and together we make our way over towards the dining area.

Only, I’m tapped on the shoulder. “Alex?” We turn. The guy lounging on the bar stool is peering at me in drunk fascination. He looks a little older than our age, with hair like Draco Malfoy’s, and an extremely attractive face. And body. “You’re not Alex, but you have Alex hair.” And then he runs his fingers through my hair.

My stomach does a gymnastics routine. When I say my name, it comes out like a squeak. The man, who introduces himself as Peter, giggles at me.

Leah is tugging on my arm a little, towards where Nick and Abby are sitting and staring at the exchange. But I don’t move yet.

Even though I have a sorta-boyfriend and I have no plans to do anything with this guy, the sudden attention is still really, _really_ nice.

“I’m buying you a drink,” Peter says. And before I have time to say anything, the guy has turned back to the bar to order a green drink in a martini glass.

Leah grabs my hand before I can take the drink. I look reproachfully in her direction, but she’s staring hard at Peter. “You take a sip first,” she tells him.

Peter nods, looking a little impressed actually. He takes a small sip, before handing it off to me. I taste it and I’m pleasantly surprised at the apple taste. Peter’s smiling at Leah. “I like you, you’re smart. In a skeezier bar than this one, strangers buying drinks could be a problem. What’s your name?”

Leah shuffles her feet. “Leah.”

“Leah, I should introduce you to my friend. She’d _really_ like you.”

Leah goes very red in the face, shooting a conflicted look at the table where Nick and Abby are sat. The strange thing is, she actually looks tempted to take him up on the offer.

Peter turns back to me. “Actually, I’d like to introduce you to my friends too, Simon with the gorgeous eyes.” And now Leah and I must look like a matched set. Because oh Jesus. Peter takes a step closer. “Are you students?”

“Yeah,” says Leah. And then, before I can think about stopping her. “High school juniors.”

Peter’s smiling face falters a little. “Oh. Oh honies. You two are just baby gays, huh?” He gives me a probing look. “How old are you?”

Now I’m blushing for an entirely different reason--embarrassment. “Seventeen.”

Handsome Peter ends up escorting Leah and me over to our table. He waves goodbye to us, leaning over to press a kiss to my forehead. “Maybe come back when you’re eighteen, I can introduce you to my friends then. Bye-bye smart Leah, cute Simon.”

He doesn’t take the apple drink with him when he goes, which I find myself grateful for. I’m still sipping on it.

Nick and Abby are staring.

“Hi,” I say, a little meekly. “Sorry it took so long to get back.”

They’ve ordered burgers for the four of us, and they’re still hot, so it couldn’t have been that long. Mine is free of greens, which is how I prefer it, and Leah’s has french-fried onions, which is a really kind touch.

“It’s fine, Simon, you were gone for less than ten minutes,” Nick says. He looks relieved.

Abby is looking at Leah in stark admiration. “I saw you making sure the drink wasn’t drugged, Leah, that was amazing.”  
  
Leah slouches in her chair, going red again.

There’s something...about the way she’s been tonight, that makes me feel like I’m missing something. I don’t want to bring it up in front of Nick and Abby, because Leah has always (especially as of late) felt a little more comfortable talking about heavy stuff to me alone.

When we leave, I am not really drunk, just a little tipsy. However, I’m just tipsy enough that I cuddle into Leah and ramble a little. Mostly about how much I love them all, but also Blue.

Blue Blue Blue Blue _Blue_.

As much as I liked Peter’s attention, I’m glad nothing happened. Because that would be the worst--Blue has joked that he’s the jealous type when it comes to me, but I think it probably wasn’t a total joke.

“I wish I knew who Blue was,” I tell Leah’s hair. She smells really good, like almonds. “I really wanna cuddle him and make out with him and have lots and lots of se--”

“ _Whoa_ there,” Nick says loudly. There’s a little bit of a laugh in his voice.

I stop. I’m maybe a little more drunk than I thought. I say so to them.

Abby says, “I’ve heard that the sweeter drinks tend to have more alcohol in them.”

“And considering you get drunk off of a single beer, this isn’t surprising,” Leah agrees, patting my head. It’s almost like she isn’t so mad at Abby tonight. It’s nice. I like it when all my friends are happy.

\---

_FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com_  
_TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com_  
_DATE: Jan 16 at 11:08 PM_  
_SUBJECT: i wan tto kiss you_

_My Blue,_

_Thank you for thr flowers,. They made me very happy and made me want to kiss you. I want to kiss you a lot htough. LIke all the time._

_andd sex. I want to hafe sex with you. so much sex. all of the sex._

_Sorry thiss email is probably really bad. I,m drunk, I think?? Nick and Abby and Leah took me to a gay bar in atlanta. A guy bought me a drink and i think he was flirting and he was really handsome but i didn’t flirt back or kiss him. Or anything. all i really want to do is give you so many kisses. I bet youre really handsome blue, i bet your hair is nice and your eyes are pretty and you probalby have a great ass. I love asses and thighs and calves._

_Youu asked about molten lava and i want to explain it. It is hot. Like when you told me ou imagine me having sex, it was like someone stuck a needle in me and pumped me full of lava. but like in a good way. Did i tell you i got off on that like right after i read that email, because i did. Is that weird? I think i’m too dtunk to tell if thats a weird thing to  tell you._

_I wish i could see you but i don’t wan tyou to go away. Because you’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me._

_abby is making me put my phone away and drink a glass of water. Goodnight Blue._

_Love,_

_Simon_

 

_FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com_  
_TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com_  
_DATE: Jan 17 at 7:24 AM_  
_SUBJECT: I am SO sorry_

_Blue,_

_I’m really sorry about that email I sent last night. I was a bit drunk last night. Did you know that drinks that are sweet tend to be more alcoholic?_

_I’m really thankful to my friends plying me with water, because I don’t have a hangover. Which means my parents don’t have to find out I got drunk last night. Yay._

_But it also means my mind is clear enough to reread that email I sent you and feel really embarrassed. Mostly because everything I said was true, but far too much information. Sorry for shoving all of that on you._

_I really did appreciate the flowers, they kind of were the best part of that day. Because of what happened after lunch before the show was kind of the worst. Did you hear what they did to the sign outside the auditorium? I’m glad if you didn’t because I don’t want to upset you or anything._

_Sorry about the overshare again._

_Love,_

_Simon_

_P.S. I swear to you that nothing happened with that guy. I would like to take you to that bar someday though. When we’re old enough, maybe?_

 

_FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com_  
_TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com_  
_DATE: Jan 17 at 8:46 AM_  
_SUBJECT: Re: I am SO sorry_

_Simon,_

_You don’t have to be sorry about the email. You are actually very cute when you’re drunk over email, and, I imagine, in person._

_I did hear about what happened to the sign. It makes me mad on your behalf. They’re juvenile idiots, Simon, don’t pay them mind._

_You really, really don’t have to be sorry about what you said about the molten lava thing. It flustered me a lot, but certainly not in a bad way. Let’s just say that…you’re not the only one who’s gotten off on our emails before. I didn’t go to bed until well after midnight last night. Now we’ve both shared far too much information, I suppose._

_I don’t know if I can call myself handsome, because I feel that would come across as vain. But you are certainly handsome. I’ve never seen you with your glasses off before yesterday. It was an experience I’m not likely to forget. But I already knew that your eyes are beautiful, moon-gray and so shiny. I love your smile, and the way you don’t always seem to realize you’re doing it. I want to run my fingers through your bed-head hair. It looks so soft. _

_And, just so you know, I stare your hands far more often than is healthy, as well as your mouth. Did you know you bite your bottom lip a lot?_

_I’m glad you liked the flowers. Were the large amount of blue flowers too much? Also, I’m sorry about that poem. I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to write. It’s apparently easier to write to you over email._

_It’s not the only thing that I’m giving you. You’ve been so patient and loving. I want to give you another piece of the puzzle._

_It’ll be by your locker, on Tuesday._

_With All of My Love,_

_Blue_

_P.S. I’d like that._

\--

A piece of the puzzle? I’m ecstatic at the prospect, but to have to wait _all_ weekend feels like torture. I feel greedy, hoarding all the facts I know about Blue (facts that no one else knows) like a dragon hoards treasure--but despite that, none of them add together to form a coherent picture.

It kind of sucks a little, how unobservant I must be for all these clues to do nothing. Really, I’ve never been great at big puzzles--when I was little, I’d usually abandon them after the border was finished because I couldn’t figure out the rest of the pieces.

Blue feels like that. Like I’ve shaped the pieces into _something_ , but I’m missing the entire middle of it. Like, maybe I dropped a few of the puzzle pieces when I took them out of the box.

Distraction comes in the form of my parents.

We’ve been circling each other for a while, since Christmas, since I came out to them.

I’m sitting in one of the recliners, legs kicked over one arm of the chair, doing English homework. Nora is out, like she often is, nowadays. My parents sit across from me, on the couch. It’s like all three of us pre-decided that we’d be meeting at this moment.

Part of me is worried that my parents found out about my drunken time at the gay bar. Though I’m not sure which of those parts I’m more anxious about them finding out. We still haven’t really talked about the gay situation. Not really. Mom keeps giving me probing looks, like she _wants_ to talk, but doesn’t want to pry--which is a first. The number of gay jokes Dad makes has gone down by a lot, but not disappeared completely. (It helps that every time he makes one, Mom and Nora glare at him, which is kind of nice). Aside from that, me being gay is like the big rainbow-colored elephant in the room--it’s impossible not to see, but no one wants to be the one to bring it up.

It’s one of the biggest bleak points about the whole last few months.

“Hey,” I say, breaking our silent staring contest.

My parents share a look. Mom opens her mouth to speak, but can’t seem to find the words she’s looking for. Instead, Dad says, “Simon, I owe you an apology. I didn’t have the best response to your coming out, not like I should have. All those jokes--” His voice suddenly cracks wetly.

I blink in shock. My dad is crying. “Dad, hey,” I breath out. “I know you didn’t, like, mean them.”

“That’s not an excuse for my behavior,” he croaks. He puts his face his hand.

Mom has been silent up until now. Now, though, she speaks. “These past few years, I knew _something_ was holding you back--like you were holding your breath. But I know how much you hate it when I pry, so I didn’t push it--maybe I should have.”

I shake my head jerkily. “No, Mom, I wouldn’t have said anything--I wasn’t ready to; and it’s not because I didn’t feel safe around you guys or not trust you enough to tell you--it’s just…” I sigh, trying to put my thoughts into words. “Everything is a big deal in this house. I knew if I told you guys, there would be a big drama. I just, wasn’t ready to deal with that.”

“We make a big deal out of everything, because they’re moment in your life, they make things special--as you get older, we miss more and more of those defining moments. And, especially in the last couple years, you’ve been more closed off. I suppose, now we know why.” Mom’s chuckle is a little sad.

“Well, anyway, in case the message got lost somewhere, we want you to know how much we love you,” Dad says, wiping his face and looking me in the eye. “We wouldn’t change anything about you.”

“You get to exhale now, Simon,” Mom says gently. “You get to be more of yourself than you have been in such a long time.”

I can feel myself getting choked up. “Dad. Mom.”

Everyone in my family are apparently very weepy people.

When Nora gets home, she takes one look at our red eyes and snotty noses and rolls her eyes so far back into her head I’m worried they might stick there. But, at the same time, she’s smiling, happy.

We spend the evening watching re-runs of _The Bachelor_. It’s a good night.

\---

Tuesday is a good day, for multiple reasons.

Firstly, when I arrive at school--twenty minutes before the buses are scheduled--there’s a bag waiting for me, hooked to the latch on my locker. For a brief moment, I’m worried that it’s another homophobic prank (they still haven’t caught the graffiti culprit). As I get nearer to it, though, it becomes clear that what it is is a t-shirt.

As I take it, Abby comes up beside me, to look over my shoulder. “What’s that?”

I, maybe, yelp a little, not having seen her. “Abby. Hi. I’m not sure, it was just hanging on my locker. I haven’t opened it yet.”

Inside is a shirt with a logo from Elliott Smith’s _Figure 8_ . There’s a card taped to the front, just like the one that was with the flowers. This one says, “ _I’m assuming Elliott understands that you would have made it to his shows if you could have_.”

Abby makes a noise behind me--nearly a coo. “Aw, Si, you have to put it on!”

I’m pretty sure my face is hot enough to fry an egg. I’m very tempted to just fold the thing up and keep it with me at all times, rather than wear it and potentially ruin the nicest gift I’ve ever gotten. At the same time though, I really, _really_ want to wear it.

I cave and go to put the shirt on in the bathroom.

Part of me is hoping, if Blue sees me in the shirt, maybe he’ll finally tell me who he is.

As I’m pulling the shirt on, something scratches at my back. I take the shirt back off, to remove what turns out to be another piece of construction paper. The straight, neat handwriting I’ve come to expect from Blue is printed across it.

_P.S. You make me want, Simon. I want to capture every single one of your smiles and brand them inside my mind. I want to lace my fingers together with yours. I want to see the way your moon-gray eyes shine when we can finally kiss. I want to be yours. I want to be brave._

_So this is me, being brave._

There is a phone number written beneath that. Blue’s phone number. It has to be.

My breath catches in my throat.

It is with rather mechanical movements that I pull the shirt back on again and return to Abby at my locker.

“You look good,” she says. Then she studies my face. “What’s wrong?”

The message on the card feels far too private to share with her, so I simply hold it up in my hand and say, “He left me his number.” I barely hear Abby’s approving noise.

I’m shaken, right down to my core. Blue has given me his number. His _number._ It seems like it was a million years ago that I asked about texting, and he turned me down. Now, though, I could call him and he would _answer_.

It’s a terrifying and thrilling prospect.

I won’t, because I don’t know the terms of this yet. He’s trusting me with this, and I don’t want to do anything to scare him off. It could be that he only wants to text. If that’s so, I’d be fine with that. Every bit more I receive of Blue is like finding an oasis in the desert.

I’m excited.

“You could go outside and text him right now,” Abby suggests. She looks almost as happy about this development as I am.

I shake my head. “As much as I want to, he could be driving right now. I’ll wait until this afternoon, after practice.”  
  
Students are starting to pour into the school. I slip the precious piece of paper into my pocket for safe keeping. I don’t want anyone to mess this up.

We pull our books from our lockers, readying for English. I shove my extra shirt in my locker and shut it.

“Still, this is a great development,” Abby says.

“What’s a great development?” Nick asks, coming up to meet us. His locker is far from ours, so he rarely has time to group up with us before we need to go to class.

“Simon’s secret admirer is continuing to ply him with gifts,” Abby says cheerfully. “And his number.”

Nick gives me a thumbs up, grinning genuinely. “That’s awesome dude.” I peer at him, feeling something off about the situation. Then I realize, he and Abby are holding hands.

They’re dating. Apparently, they got together over the weekend, sometime after Leah and I left Abby’s house.

I feel a pang of nervousness. I’m not sure how Leah’s going to take this. She has been so supportive these past few weeks, and she’s bit her tongue a couple of times to stop herself from snapping at Abby because it would ruin what was going on with me.

Honestly, I don’t deserve Leah.

\--

She takes it better than I thought she would. The only indication that Leah even realizes the change in Nick and Abby’s relationship is a widening of her eyes and her mouth thinning until it almost disappears completely. I decide I’ll need to catch her alone at some point so she can talk freely. Until then I can only bump shoulders with her occasionally, to show affection. And distract her from this situation, by explaining mine.

Leah is excited on my behalf at the shirt and the number. I end up actually showing her the cards, not feeling as much a need to hide them from her. She scans the papers, grinning, taking in the words. She frowns suddenly.

“I know I’ve seen this handwriting before,” she says.

“If you figure it out, don’t tell me,” I blurt. She looks at me in askance. “As much as I want to know, he’s not ready for me to find out who he is. I don’t want to hurt him by betraying his trust.”

“This is practically an invitation,” she protests, but I won’t be moved from my stance. Not until I get an okay from Blue.

During lunch, we celebrate Morgan and Bram’s birthdays, which passed over the weekend--which means there are two full birthday cakes to gorge on. Leah always brings the birthday person’s favorite flavor. Morgan’s cake is plain chocolate, but Bram’s has frosting made from peanut butter. I like Bram’s better, even though I don’t usually eat too much peanut butter. There’s something niggling in the back of my mind, but I can’t quite figure it out.

While we stuff our faces full of sugar, Garrett says to me, “Hey, cool t-shirt!”

I grin awkwardly. “Thanks. My, uh, my boyfriend got it for me. I really like it.”

“Simon about had a heart attack when he found his number,” Abby announces. Garrett finds that hilarious for some reason, because he chortles loudly, before proclaiming his happiness for me.

I’m blushing, trying and failing to glare at Abby. I can’t. I’m in too good a mood.

“When are you going to call him?” Nick asks, curious.

I move around a stray crumb of cake with my fork. “I’m going to text him first, after rehearsal. I don’t know if he wants me to call--I don’t want to push him into anything.”

Garrett throws his hands up in faux annoyance. “For god’s sake Simon! It seems to me that this Blue guy is trying to leave you a big clue and you just want to ignore it?” Then he makes a weird sound, a little _oof_ , like he’s been kicked.

I ignore _him_ , going back to focusing on my slice of chocolate-peanut butter cake.

Again, there’s something about that that feels important…

I’m jittery for the rest of the day, a mix of the sugary lunch and anxious excitement for finally getting to text Blue. (In anticipation, I put him in my contacts as Braveheart; because if someone were to go through my phone, I wouldn’t want them to make the immediate connection to Blue. And, also, all the rest of my friends have cheesy nicknames on my phone as well.) When school is done, I’m tempted to skip rehearsals so I don’t have to wait any longer--but with the show starting this Friday, I can’t afford to miss a practice.

I suffer through it and am the first one out the door when it’s finished.

I sit in my car, staring at the messaging app on my phone. Anxiety and exhilaration squirm together in my stomach. I manage to type out a message.

_Me: [Hey Blue, it’s Simon. As is probably clear with me texting you, I got your gift, as well as the cards. Did you see me wearing the shirt? I loved the message you left on the inside, though I never would have seen it if I hadn’t put on the shirt right away.]_

_Me: [Also. It’s not just you who wants, Blue. I want all of what you said and more. I want to hear your voice whispering in my ear. I want to know what the taste of your skin is like. I want to know the heat of your body and the feel of that molten lava under my skin. I want to take naps with you, so curled together that no one can tell where either of us begin.]_

_Me: [You were very brave to do this, Blue. Thank you for trusting that I wouldn’t betray your wish.]_

About a minute after I’ve sent those texts, the standard ellipsis of typing appear. I hold my breath. Once, twice, three times they disappear as Blue seemingly erases what he’s written, but finally a reply appears.

_Braveheart:_ [ _I’m glad you liked the shirt. I saw it at a second hand store and thought of you.  
I was very happy to see you wearing it.] _

_Braveheart: [Of course I trust you, Simon. You’ve never given me a reason not to.]_

_Braveheart: [I have to admit, part of me thought you would call me._  
_I know I said I wasn’t ready for you to know who I am, but that was a while ago._  
_Like I said, you’ve made me braver.]_

_Braveheart: [I’d like to meet.]_

_Braveheart: [If you’re comfortable with that, of course.]_

_Me: [!!!!! Of course I want to meet you! You only need to say where and when, and I’ll be there!]_

_Me: [...That came out really thirsty sounding. One disadvantage of texting over email, I can’t sit and proofread my message a million times.]_

_Me: [Aaand, that sounds weird too. Gahhhh.]_

_Braveheart: [Aww. Well, if it’s any consolation, I do the proofreading thing too.  
You don’t know how many “thirsty” sounding messages I’ve deleted these past few months.] _

_Braveheart: [Would Sunday, after your final show, be too long a wait?  
There’s that carnival thing going on. It’s open until nine, I think?] _

_Me: [Sunday sounds perfect! Anywhere in specific you want to meet? I’m assuming the Tilt-a-Whirl is off limits. ;) ]_ _  
_

_Braveheart: [Honestly, I would totally go on the Tilt-a-Whirl for you--I’d just prefer not to.]_

_Me: [I’m swooning. You are the last true romantic.]_

_Braveheart: [ ;) How about the Ferris Wheel? We could start there and work our way through the rides and booths.]_

_Me: [That sounds awesome. I’m gonna warn you now though, I’m terrible at those prize games,_  
_so I won’t be winning you any stuffed animals (that’s what couples do at the carnival, right??)._  
_What should I be on the look-out for?  
A flower in your lapel? Or a copy of Pride and Prejudice with a rose in it?]_

_Braveheart: [I cannot believe you just referenced one of the straightest rom-coms ever made.  
...And I can’t believe that I’ve watched You’ve Got Mail enough times to get the reference.] _

_Me: [It fits, doesn’t it? ;)))))]_

_Braveheart: [I hate that you’re so right.]_

_Braveheart: [Don’t worry about the prize games. Not to brag, but I’m usually pretty good at those.  
As for what you should look out for…Let me think on it. I’ll tell you tomorrow.] _

_Me: [ <3 <3] _

_Braveheart: [...Hey, your family watches the Bachelor, yeah? Maybe I should be holding a red rose.]_

_Me: [DO NOT]_

_Braveheart: [ :-) ]_

_Braveheart: [Mail you later tonight. <3] _

\---

Leah sleeps over. I can tell she’s still upset from the Nick-Abby revelation, but she’s doing a fairly good job of hiding it. If I didn’t know her so well, I wouldn’t have noticed. She clearly doesn’t want to talk about, and, though I’m itching to ask, I don’t pry. Not prying goes against my Spier nature, but I power through it. I’ll wait for her to bring it up on her own terms.

Instead, I tell her about my plans with Blue. It makes her grin, which is a bit of a triumph. She approves wholeheartedly of the idea.

It is only later in the night, that Leah brings up her own situation.

We’re laying next to each other, staring up at the ceiling.

“You wanna know the worst part of Nick and Abby getting together is?” she asks. “It’s that, I don’t really know who I’m more jealous of.”

It takes me a couple seconds to understand. I turn to her, wide eyed. “You like Abby?”

She nods, heaving a big sigh. “I’ve know I was bi for a while now, but the girl part has always been a mostly abstract thing--celebrity crushes and stuff. But Abby…she kind of hit me out of nowhere. And apparently, I get really tongue-tied around girls I like, because I always seem to say the wrong thing to her. Watching her flirting with Nick has been awful.”

I hug her. “Thank you for telling me.” I attempt a wry grin. “And, don’t worry, we all fall for at least one straight person.”

Leah falls asleep not long after that conversation, and I find myself checking my phone. I’ve been obsessively keeping an eye out for texts, but Blue is apparently not one for mindless texting. It’s not surprising. He always seems to put such thought behind everything he writes.

Though there haven’t been any texts, there’s a new email. My stomach gives that flutter it does everytime I get a new email from Blue.

 

_FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com_  
_TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com_  
_DATE: Jan 22 at 8:38 PM_  
_SUBJECT: You’ve Got Mail_

_Simon,_

_I’m still thinking about how similar we are to that movie, and it’s driving me nuts. Who’s Tom Hanks in this scenario? Is it me? Please say that it’s not me._

_I’ve been trying to figure out how to show you it’s me, at the carnival. I don’t want to be too subtle, because, no offense, sometimes you miss details. I’m not saying that to be mean, it’s one of the things I love about you. But I also don’t want to be too obvious (like an airport sign that says, “I’m very gay for Simon Spier” or something). I’m not ready to be that out. My mind keeps going back to that Bachelor thing I joked about. Though, I feel like that would just annoy you. _

_Any ideas?_

_I have to admit, even though I’m the one who set the day, it’s going to be difficult waiting until Sunday to see you and have you know that I’m Blue._

_Did I tell you that I came out to my dad? He came to visit over the weekend, and it felt like the right time. He wasn’t really shocked, which I’m a little surprised by. Do you want to know what he told me after I told him? He said, “Well, Casanova was bisexual, so I wasn’t completely off the mark with my gift.” It was a little bit funny actually, he was very earnest about it. And he tried to re-give me the sex talk, even though he knows very little about gay sex. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I thoroughly researched the topic in ninth grade._

_That might be slightly too much information._

_Love,_

_Blue_

 

_FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com_  
_TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com_  
_DATE: Jan 22 at 11:59 PM_  
_SUBJECT: Re: You’ve Got Mail_

_Blue,_

_You are SO Tom Hanks in this scenario--you’re the one who figured out the other’s identity first. (How did you figure it out, by the way?) Honestly, I’m fine with being Meg Ryan, because that bookstore was the  SHIT. _

_You know what? They should do a gay remake of that. If the irony didn’t kill me, I think I would seriously enjoy it._

_I will run the other way if you do the Bachelor thing, seriously. (I’m kidding, but seriously , do not  _ . _) But, honestly, if you just came up to me first, that would probably be easiest. Maximize the time we get to spend together by minimizing the time I spend looking._

_Freaking Casanova. I’m so happy your dad was so cool about it! Even if the sex talk must have been awkward. When I came out to my parents, the first thing my dad said was, “So, which one of your girlfriends was the one who turned you?” So. I dunno. Think I would’ve prefered the sex talk. (He has since apologized. I think he must have gone on like a million help websites for parents of queer kids.)_

_I’m curious, how thorough was this research? (He asks, invasively, like the nosy person he is.)_

_I’m weirdly exhausted, so I’m gonna head to bed now. I’ll text you tomorrow, before school--if that’s cool with you?_

_Love,_

_Simon_

 

_FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com_  
_TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com_  
_DATE: Jan 23 12:08 AM_  
_SUBJECT: Re: You’ve Got Mail_

_I’d like to tell you in person, I think._

_My research was extremely thorough. See, I kind of developed a huge crush on this kid (you might know him, his name is Simon), and well, vague fantasies weren’t enough after a while. I’m a planner, so everything has to be researched--even daydreams._

_Sleep well. It’s more than cool with me if you text me in the morning._

_Love,_

_Blue_

_P.S. I can’t believe I wrote that without deleting it._

\---

It’s difficult to fall asleep, after that.

\---

The rest of the week seems to drag on. There are no high or low points to speak of--excepting, of course, for my continuing to text with Blue. We end up texting well past midnight on Thursday. He finally asks me to go to bed at two.

_You have a big day tomorrow, you need to be well rested,_ he texts.

Blue is a nurturing soul.

On Friday, it seems like the whole school is thrumming with excitement--likely for the weekend and the carnival rather than the show. But the enthusiasm is especially evident in the theater group and at our table at lunch.

“This is it, Si,” Abby says, rather faux dramatically. She drops her fork to grab one of my hands in both of hers. “Today, Shady Creek, tomorrow, _Broadway_.”

I’m only half certain she’s joking, but we all laugh anyway. The thing is, if Abby wanted, she might have a legitimate future on the stage. I don’t know if that’s what she wants or not, but it could be one of more than a few options for her.

Me, probably not.

It isn’t something that I think about a lot, the future. Honestly, my mind is so often occupied with day-to-day life, that I don’t have _time._ But.

But, lately, when I do think about the future, I think about Blue. I think about being somewhere a lot more liberal than Georgia, about sharing a college dorm with a single bed. I think about holding hands on the sidewalk and kissing him just because I can. I think about a city apartment with room for kids, and maybe a dog. I think about marriage. I think about being with him for the rest of my life.

It’s stupid, I _know_ it’s stupid. This is the first boy I’ve _really_ liked who exists in my circle of existence (and isn’t straight). I’m setting myself up for heartbreak if I think a high school romance could last forever.

Maybe it’s the optimist in me that hasn’t quite managed to die out, but I want to hold on to that idea of forever.

\---

The show goes phenomenally--everyone is at their very best. And I kind of adore all of them for it (except Martin, who I hate only slightly less than normal). When we take our bows, my eyes scan the auditorium (it’s packed wall to wall, which is gratifying). I know I won’t be able to look at the crowd and know which one is Blue, but it’s still a wonderful feeling, to know he’s out there in the sea of people.

My friends and I gather together after the show is over. Abby and I are grinning like we just finished performing live at the Imperial Theater, rather than in a stuffy high school auditorium. There’s an exchange of hugs from all around (Leah turns cherry red when, at one point, she’s squished in a hug between Nick and Abby. She glares daggers at me when I give her a thumbs up).

Then my family is there, with Abby’s mom, and there are far too many pictures taken. Nora’s holding a bouquet of flowers that are practically Seussian in style. Part of me wants to joke that this is the wrong musical for those, but I have a feeling only Abby and Leah would get the joke.

God, I’m such a theater geek.

My parents insist on treating us all to dinner to celebrate, so the eight of us end up taking a trip to the Varsity. We squeeze into two booths. And it’s amazing how performing has worked up an appetite. I practically inhale a chilli cheese dog and a chilli cheese burger before I stop to take a breath. I notice my friends and my sister laughing a little at my ravenous state, but I don’t care. Abby is nearly in the same predicament as I.

We all get frosted oranges and head home straight after, because Abby and I are both exhausted from performing.

I’m ready to crash into bed the minute I walk in the door. But, I still find myself checking my phone. It’s nearly eleven. There are two messages from Blue.

_Braveheart: [You were amazing tonight. I didn’t know you could sing so well.  
I couldn’t take my eyes off of you the whole time.] _

_Braveheart: [I’m really looking forward to Sunday.]_

I grin, my face hot, feeling pleased at his assessment.

_Me: [I’m glad you enjoyed the show. I’m excited for Sunday too. I can’t wait to see you.]_

_Braveheart: [ <3 Please go to sleep soon, okay?  
Sunday will come and we’ll be able to talk in person.] _

I’m asleep before my head hits the pillow.

\---

Saturday goes just as good as the first show, but it’s Sunday’s showing where we truly seem to shine. It doesn’t seem like it will be that way, at first. In my jittery anticipation for the final show, and what comes after, I put my costume on inside out. And Abby has to point out, ten minutes into my search, I’m wearing the contacts I’m looking for. She practically cackles through helping me put on my makeup.

Thankfully, everything goes off without a hitch after that. We get thunderous applause after every musical number, laughs at all the correct times, and during the climax scene, I see several people in the audience crying.

And then it’s over and we all take our bows, and I’m grinning so hard my face aches. I’m caught in a big hug between Abby and several of my fellow Fagin’s ‘boys’. There are endless thanks to nearly everyone under the sun, and the whole time, even as post-show elation is rushing through me, I’m waiting.

Blue and I have agreed to meet at seven PM. I originally lobbied for six thirty, wanting to spend as much time with Blue as possible, but Blue pointed out that I’m likely to have to stay after to help wrap up after the show.

Ugh, responsibilities.

Blue turns out to be wholly correct. We finish clearing everything up at six thirty and then head straight over to the carnival. Leah and Nick meet me and Abby at the front. It’s six forty-five. I have fifteen minutes before I meet Blue.

I have fifteen minutes to freak the fuck out.

I’m tugging at the hem of my shirt (it’s the one Blue got me, because I’m maybe a bit of a hopeful romantic) and trying to breathe calmly in through my nose. I manage to get through the ticket line before I have to sit down on a bench and try not to hyperventilate. Abby and Nick don’t know about my and Blue’s plan, so they are naturally a little concerned, but Leah plops down next to me and puts an arm on my shoulder. She waves Nick and Leah off to go do gross couple-y things. They hesitate but she manages to convince them to go. Distantly, I wonder how much it hurts her to have to do that.

Once again I am convinced that I do not totally deserve Leah.

“Hey,” she says softly. “Hey. You love this boy, don’t you?”

I give a jerky nod. “So much.”

“And he’s made it pretty clear that he only has eyes for you, yeah?”

“Yeah.” The tightness in my chest loosens some.

“And the only reason you guys haven’t met yet is that he’s too shy to reveal himself, right?”

I manage to sit up a little straighter. “Uh-huh.”

“So it stands to reason, that he’s probably freaking out just as much as you are,” Leah says, matter-of-factly. “I bet he’s worried you’ll be disappointed it’s him.”

“Why would he be--?” I stop, eyes narrowing. There’s something about what the way she’s talking that makes it feel like it’s not a guess. “Leah, do you know something?”

She grins, a little guiltily. “I recognized the handwriting, and several hundred things about the past three years started to make sense. You told me not to tell you.”

I sigh. “I did tell you that.”

She gives me one more pat and stands. “He’s probably waiting for you, go get those hugs you’ve been whining about for the past month.”

“What about you?"  
  
Her smile is only a little bit sad. “I’m going to find Morgan and Anna, and if we happen to bump into Nick and Abby, well that’ll just be a coincidence.”

I laugh. She gives me a mock salute.

“Go get’em, lover boy.”

I make my way towards the Ferris Wheel. It’s crowded around the ride and it looks like the line stretches about a million miles. I check the time again. It’s a minute to seven. Anticipation curls in my gut like hot chocolate. I find another bench to sit on, with a good view of the area, and settle in to wait.

I have waited for maybe two minutes, when there is the tap of something soft on my shoulder. I look and find a plushy carnival rose. It’s dark purple, nearly blue. There’s a shy laugh from behind me and a quiet voice speaks.

“I couldn’t resist it.”  
  
I turn and look at Bram Greenfield. Cute Bram, with the gentle brown eyes and the unfair soccer calves. My stomach swoops like I missed a step on the stairs.

“Bram,” I breathe out.

I’ve never noticed, but Bram has dimples when he smiles. There is a nervous quality to it that makes me want to run my hands across his face. “Are you disappointed?”

I sputter. “ _No_ , I am, like, the exact opposite of disappointed. Disappoint that Blue is Cute Bram with the soccer calves?” He ducks his head shyly. His smile gets wider. “I just never _thought_ that it could be you. I thought you had a crush on Leah. I thought you were straight. And about fifty soccer fields out of my league.”

He kind of gives a big laugh at that and I’m grinning now too. Bram gestures next to me. “Can I sit?”

I might nod a little too vehemently, because I crick my neck a little. When Bram sits, he sits close enough that I can feel the warmth of his thigh against mine. I give a pleasant shiver. He hold out the stuffed rose again, and this time I manage to take it. Our hands brush.

Wow, I am really gay for this.

I mean, I’m gay literally all the time, but.

Bram’s eyes are the color of melting chocolate, framed by long delicate eyelashes, and I can already tell I could get lost in the way they reflect the lights of the fair around us.

I realize our faces are mere inches apart, and I suddenly remember that Bram is technically not out yet. I don’t know how much of himself he is ready to show the rest of the world, and I don’t want to push him into something he’s not ready for.

(I won’t be Martin.)

I feel flushed and dizzy and I see him blink hazily when I pull back a little. I smile at him. “What do you want to ride first?”

For some reason, that makes his ears redden, but he smiles back, big and beautiful. “The line for the Ferris Wheel has gone down some. Shall we?”

We walk in step with each other, hands never quite touching. On the Ferris Wheel we sit closer together than is necessary. When we reach the very top, with the carnival and the whole of Shady Creek spread out below us, I manage to speak.

My insides are screaming at me to kiss him, but instead I say, “Can I hold your hand?” My heart is beating a tattoo into my throat.

Bram’s smile is made of magic. “I’d like that.”

And so we do.

\---

We ride nearly every single ride in the park--the only exception is, of course, the Tilt-a-Whirl. Being with Bram is dizzying enough. I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from telling him so. Then I wonder why I don’t say it; Bram’s sense of humor over email was hilarious and a little bit cheesy.

“I don’t need the Tilt-a-Whirl, you’re so wonderful you make me dizzy enough.”

The words maybe got tangled a little on their way out of my mouth, but Bram honest-to-goodness _giggles_.

And it suddenly hits me: how much I’ve already fallen in love with this boy. Before today, I didn’t know his name or what he looked like or what he sounded like when he laughed (well not in this context), but I had fallen for him long before that. But each second I’m around him, I can feel myself becoming more and more in love with him.

And I’ve never been more okay with a feeling in my life.

We run into Leah, alone for the moment, by the hot chocolate stand. She starts grinning the moment she sees us. Bram doesn’t seem surprised, so I’m assuming that Leah talked to him after she figured out who he was. I’m a little sad to see her by herself, and almost without thinking about it, I invite her to come along with us.

Leah laughs, and it’s a genuinely cheerful sound. “I’m actually just on a hot chocolate run--no way am I being a third wheel on this adorable whatever you guys have going on.” She half toasts one of the drinks she holding at us. “You guys are literally glowing with happiness. Go be a grossly cute couple.”

Then she’s disappeared into the crowd.

At the game booths, Bram wins me about eight stuffed animals, a practical zoo. (I would protest him wasting his tickets on me, but the thing about Bram is he’s so skilled he keeps winning the free turns. It’s a little unfair.) I make a pathetic attempt at one of those game where you throw the beanbags at the tin cans. One beanbag glances off the side of one, bumping it but not knocking it over at all. I end up with a consolation prize, a little purple plastic dolphin keychain, which I give to Bram. I’m slightly embarrassed by my nonexistent skills at these games, but the way Bram immediately hooks the keychain onto his keys makes me feel better immediately.

We find Nick and Abby, also near the games. Abby has won a plethora of stuffed animal for Nick (about twelve), which apparently strikes a competitive nerve with Bram. So, he and Abby spend the next ten minutes in front of the crane machine, winning me and Nick more stuffed toys. It’s a little bit awesome to watch, really.

Nick doesn’t look surprised that I’m hanging out with Bram (and only Bram). We simply watch our significant others (partners?) make the crane game vendor cry, accumulate stuffed animals around our feet, and share a plate of funnel cake (which neither Abby nor Bram enjoy--it’s almost a deal breaker, but Nick and I can overlook this one fault. I guess).

When Bram and I part ways with the other couple, after Abby and Bram are banned from the booth for too much winning, I have gained another six stuffed animals. I end up acquiring a (clean) trashbag from somewhere to fit them all. I’m carrying them across my back like Santa Claus.

It’s a little surprising, how easy it is to be around Bram, to talk like we did when there was a screen between us. I buy cotton candy for the both of us, and we end up winding our way to the entrance. It’s nearly nine, and I’m expected to be home at a quarter to ten, but I’m not ready to end our date (it is a date, right?).

We end up sitting in my car with the heat blasting, listening to Elliot Smith and just _being_ for a while--Bram and Simon, Blue and Jacques, together. Boyfriends.  
  
“We are boyfriends, right?” I ask. We might’ve started using that term over email, but it was always with “maybe” written before it. Bram could take it back. “Or, a couple? Partners? Sweethearts?” I look at him, my lips twitching at the amused look on his face. “I can keep going, Bram.”

“If you’re okay with it, I think Boyfriends,” he says.

I’m okay with that. I’m more than okay with that. Simon Irvin Spier and…

“Hey, you never mentioned, how are you a president?” I ask, suddenly remembering his reply to my dumbass theory of Cal=Blue. “First name of a former president?

Bram’s smile is mischievous. “Abraham. Abraham Louis Greenfield.”

Oh.

“Hey, Abraham Louis Greenfield?”

“Yes, Simon Irvin Spier?”

“Can I kiss you?”

And he smiles, big and bright and beautiful, and there is an answer in the way he leans forward. When his lips are a breath away from mine, he whispers, “You may.” And then we’re kissing and it’s so awkward--both our noses getting in the way and we’re both laughing into it.

And it’s _glorious_.

It ends far, far too soon for my liking, but it’s getting perilously close to nine-thirty, and I would like to remain not grounded so I have the option to go on dates with my boyfriend.

Just thinking the phrase, ‘dates with my boyfriend’ makes me feel giddy as hell.

“If you’re not ready to be out to the school, I’m okay with waiting,” I say. For the moment, we’ve got the seats laid back and are pretty much gazing at each other like a couple’a saps. Our hands are laced together.

Bram’s smile is gentle and nervous. “I think I am ready. I think that’s why I waited the extra week to tell you who I was. For me, it didn’t seem fair to you that you wouldn’t get a hundred percent of me a hundred percent of the time. Most of the week was me psyching myself up.”

“I just don’t want you to push yourself into something you aren’t comfortable with,” I say. Inside though, I’m feeling more than a little elated.

We will have to talk eventually about what our being out as a couple will mean--especially in regards to PDA. With how shy Bram gets around people he doesn’t know, I get the feeling we won’t be making out against lockers like it seems all the other couples do. I think I’m okay with that.

Eventually I walk Bram back to his car. We kiss goodnight--though, one kiss turns into two turns into four. We kiss and keep kissing, Bram leaning against his car with me pressed against him as close as I can get, my arms looped over his shoulders. But it’s not frenzied. It’s slow and sweet and pleasure curls in my stomach like a low burning fire. It wasn’t evident back in my car, but he’s just enough taller than me that I have to tilt my head up to meet him and somehow that makes it ten times better. He’s a warm contrast the cool January air and it’s so nice, and so wonderful. It’s another ten minutes before I make it back to my car.

I barely arrive back home in time. I slip inside the door just as the clock on the living room mantle switches to nine forty-five. Which is some teen movie shit that I couldn’t make up. I catch my mom’s eye as I go for the stairs. She’s smiling knowingly and I can feel my face blushing, but she makes no attempts to call me over. I escape to my room unscathed. I arrange all of the stuffed animals along the side of my bed, even if it makes my room look a little like a middle schooler’s. I kind of love it. Bram’s rose gets pride of place on my desk, right next to my laptop.

I text with my friends for a little bit, making sure they all got home alright. Grinning a little, I text Bram to tell him how much I miss him already, putting about five hearts next to it. He sends three rows of hearts in return, alternating between red and blue. I have to choke back on a cackle, because Nora’s already asleep (because she’s an actual human person with a function sleep schedule. It’s so weird).

Bram and I say goodnight to each other about five times, before I eventually pass out around twelve AM.

\---

The entire week is something like a daydream.

On Monday morning, before school, Bram and I are listed as the other’s boyfriend on Facebook, which shouldn’t feel like such a big thing, but it completely is. I meet him in the parking lot and we walk into school together. We’re not holding hands, but every couple of seconds, our fingers brush and it’s almost as good. We part ways at my locker, with him brushing my shoulder gently, and nodding kindly at Abby. She’s grinning, in a slightly terrifying way, but she waits until Bram is gone before she turns to me.

“I held my tongue yesterday,” she says. “Because you guys were being all adorable and shy about it, but seriously, what is going on with you and Bram? Is he, you know, you-know-who?”

I’m feeling a little coy, so I shrug. “Well, no, he’s not Voldemort--” She shoves me and I snicker. “But, yes, he’s who I’ve been emailing, and yesterday we, well, got together.”

She makes a high pitched sound. “That’s almost all of us, now,” she says, after a moment. She shuts her locker and begins down the hall. I follow after. “Me and Nick, and you and Bram, now all we need is--”

“-- _No_ ,” I say, firmly. “Leah doesn’t want to be set up.” I highly doubt she would appreciate the girl she has a crush on (and who is dating the _boy_ she has a crush on) trying to get her a boyfriend.

That’s the end of that conversation.

In English, I sit next to Bram on the couch. My leg is flush against Bram’s and it’s literally all I can think about. At least, until Garrett speaks up from his spot on Bram’s other side.

“Hey, good job this weekend, Spier,” he says. “The show was hilarious.”

I feel myself grinning self consciously. Garrett and I don’t usually interact all that much. I wonder if that’s going to change now that me and Bram are together. “Thanks. You saw the show?”

Garrett’s eyes are twinkling. “All three times. Greenfield took me with him so he could make heart eyes at you the whole time.” Bram makes an embarrassed noise next to me.

Then all three of us are smiling and laughing a little and it’s a new thing, but also good.

“Garrett was the one who suggested the carnival,” Bram will tell me later, on our way to the grocery store. I will be a little shocked and a lot thankful.

But right now, Bram is warm and comfortable next to me, and I lean heavily into him during class. He is managing to follow along and take notes on the reading without being distracted like me. I can’t really help it. He’s _Bram_ and he smells so good and I just…

I’m pretty sure I make three separate lovesick sighs. I would be a little disgusted with myself if I could actually bring myself to care that I’m being mushy.

**Author's Note:**

> If the ending seems abrupt, that's because I was going to write more, but my motivation for writing ebbs and flows. Right now I have 8% of writing motivation. Also, what little extra I did write was Not fluff in the slightest. If I continue this sometime in the future, it would likely have a lot less oogie-fluff and more fluff&angst.


End file.
